


Pledged

by princessgolux



Series: The Riddle-Master of Hale [2]
Category: Riddle-Master Trilogy - Patricia A. McKillip, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessgolux/pseuds/princessgolux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sherriff of An pledged the hand of his son to the winner of the Riddle-Game of Peven of An.</p><p>His son has some thoughts about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pledged

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the same world as The Prince of Hale. It's actually not a scene in the books, just a scene that occurred to me in thinking about Stiles' reaction to his father's pledge.

Stiles eyed the small moonlit space between shadowed trees. It wasn’t large – maybe four feet – but he would be utterly exposed. But going around and sticking to the shadows completely would cost him time he didn’t have. He held his breath and concentrated on hearing the night around him.

“We should go back.”

“ _Shhh_.” Stiles hissed, glaring at Scott. “Go back if you want to, but be quiet about it.”

“Stiles…”

“I’m going.” Stiles face was set in familiar lines of discontent and stubbornness. “You promised you’d come with me. You _promised_!”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Scott glared back. “But this is a bad idea, Stiles.”

“You should listen to him, son.”

Both boys froze. As one they looked up at Sheriff of An standing behind them.

The Sheriff stood in the dim light filtering through the trees around them. He was in bare feet and a cotton nightshift which swirled around his legs in the night wind. He should have looked laughable.

Scott was petrified.

“Sir.” He choked out, eyes wide with horror. “Sir, this is not what it look like…”

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow.

“Really?” He said, sounding interested. “Because it looks like my 12 year old son cozened his 15 year old foster brother into helping him sneak off to Peven’s Tower in the middle of the night.”

Scott made a low, relieved sound. “In that case…”

“Traitor!” Stiles complained bitterly.

The Sheriff frowned. “Do you know what the punishment would be if Scott were to be found guilty of stealing the land-heir of An from his bed in the middle of the night?”

Stiles folded his arms and raised his chin. “Is it worse than being sold off to some Riddle-Master?”

“Considerably.” The Sheriff said flatly, all signs of levity gone. “He would be put to death.”

Stiles gulped, his arms falling to his sides. “What?” He stepped sideways reflexively, positioning himself between his father and his foster brother. “That’s absurd! It was my idea!”

“You are the land-heir to an ancient and powerful kingdom, Piękny.” His father said, as serious as Stiles had ever seen him. “You are also a child. Your existence is coveted for your position, but you yourself are only important to those of us who love you. It will be some time before you have the power to protect those around you.”

“Father…” Stiles said, his mouth twisting.

“Stiles,” The Sheriff interrupted, heavy and forbidding. “Go to bed.”

“Just let me go to the Tower, myself. I can win, I swear!” Stiles blurted out. “I won’t marry someone just because they won a Riddle-game!”

“No, you won’t.” His father said turning to walk away.

“I will so win!”

“You won’t do that either,” his father said. He raised his arms and his body blurred, twisting into the shape of a crow. The dark-eyed bird circled the boys once and then shot off towards the house.

Stiles stood looking after him, angry and chagrined. “Come on, Scott. We can still make it to the Tower.”

Scott’s eyes were thoughtful, his face drawn in concentration.

“Scott!” Stiles said, louder.

“Hush.” Scott said absently.

Stiles stamped his foot. “You _promised_ , Scott!”

Scott rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. “Honestly, Stiles. How are you going to defeat Peven if you can’t even recognize a riddle when it’s handed to you?”

“Riddle?” Stiles was still angry, but the word caught his curiosity. “What riddle?”

“‘ _Either_ ’.” Scott said, turning to look back toward the house. “He said, ‘ _either_ ’.”

“So?”

“’You won’t do that _either_.’” Scott turned back to him, eyes fierce. “That’s what your father said. That means the first time he said “you won’t” he wasn’t referring to winning a riddle-game.”

Stiles opened his mouth and Scott took a step forward to cut off whatever he was about to say.

“You made two statements, Stiles.” He said urgently. “You said you would win, yes, but you also said you wouldn’t marry someone just because they won Peven’s Crown. That was the statement your father was answering the first time.”

“That makes no sense, Scott.” Stiles said. “My father pledged at my birth that I would marry the person who won the Riddle-Game. He pledged it with his _name_. And mine, for that matter. He can’t…what?”

Scott was looking thoughtful again. “He never said you’d marry them _because_ they won the game, did he?”

Stiles opened his mouth and then closed it. He blinked.

“No.” He said slowly. “No he didn’t.”

“You trust your dad, right?”

“Of course.” Stiles said immediately. “But he pledged…”

“Whatever.” Scott said. “You trust him, I trust him. Let’s just trust that he wouldn’t sell you to the highest bidder.” He grinned. “Which he’s pretty much already trusted about _me_ tonight.”

He sobered. “I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe. I promised that, and I meant it. But as smart as you are, full-grown Riddle-Masters have lost their lives in that tower. Your dad loves you. Let’s go home and think of some other way to come at this problem.”

“OK.” Stiles said, and turned towards the house, starting the trek back.

It was Scott’s turn to blink.

“Really?” He said not moving. “Seriously? You’re giving up this easily?”

“Nope.” Stiles said, turning again and walking backwards, heedless of trees barely missed. “I just had a better idea.”

Scott sighed and ran to catch up, pulling his brother back around and toward him to avoid a collision with an oak.

“Does it involve running away again?”

“No.”

“Hiring someone to smuggle you to Peven’s tower?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Enrolling in the college at Caithnard?”

“Close.”

“What?” Scott stopped. “Stiles, you’re incredibly smart, but riddles aren’t really your thing.”

“No,” Stiles said smugly, “they’re yours.”

Scott stared after his brother.

“Gods preserve me.” He muttered, and ran to catch up again.

 


End file.
